Epilogue
CADE
The evening light filters through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting golden streaks across our living room.
I lean against the doorframe of my office, watching Chloe sprawled on the couch with her laptop balanced on her knees.
She's wearing one of my old t-shirts and sleep shorts, hair piled messily on top of her head, completely absorbed in whatever assignment she's working on for her online courses.
Six months. Half a year since I proposed in that restaurant, since we fucked in the gazebo like teenagers who couldn't wait. Feels like yesterday and a lifetime ago simultaneously.
We've settled into something comfortable.
Something that feels permanent in ways I never imagined possible when this started.
Chloe continued with her studies, still working toward her art therapy degree with the same focused determination she brings to everything she does.
She spends her mornings in class, afternoons working on assignments, evenings curled up beside me reviewing case studies and theoretical frameworks I don't pretend to understand.
Watching her work reminds me why I fell so hard—that quiet intensity, the way she loses herself completely in whatever she's doing.
I glance down at my left hand, at the simple gold band circling my ring finger. Still getting used to the weight of it. Three months married. Courthouse ceremony with two witnesses we hired off the street, no family, no fanfare. Just us and a judge who didn't ask questions about our last names.
We sent invitations to Harold and Doris. Formal, proper invitations printed on expensive cardstock. They arrived back unopened, "return to sender" stamped across the front in red ink.
Message received.
Chloe cried that night. Not loud, messy tears—the quiet kind that hurt worse. I held her while she soaked my shirt, promising it didn't matter, that we didn't need anyone's approval or attendance. We had each other. That was enough.
And it is enough. Mostly.
But I see how she looks at her phone sometimes, hoping for a text that never comes. How she pauses when we pass mothers and daughters shopping together. The small flinch when someone mentions family.
I'd give anything to fix that for her. To give her back what she lost by choosing me.
The doorbell rings, jarring me from my thoughts.
Chloe glances up. "Expecting someone?"
"No." I push off the doorframe, heading for the entrance. "Probably a delivery."
But when I check the security camera feed on the panel by the door, my stomach drops.
Harold and Doris stand in the hallway. Both looking older than I remember, uncertain. Doris clutches her purse like a lifeline. Harold's hands are shoved deep in his pockets.
"Fuck," I mutter.
"What?" Chloe calls from the living room.
I don't answer immediately. Instead, I unlock the door and pull it open, positioning myself in the doorway. Blocking entry.
"Harold. Doris."
My father meets my eyes first. "Cade. Can we come in?"
"Depends. Why are you here?"
"We want to talk," Doris says softly. Her voice cracks. "Please. We need to talk to Chloe."
"Chloe doesn't need anything from you." My tone stays flat, cold. "You made your choice six months ago."
"Cade?" Chloe's voice comes from behind me. I glance back to see her standing in the hallway, laptop forgotten on the couch. She's frozen, staring past me at her mother. "Mom?"
Doris's face crumples. "Oh, baby. Chloe?—"
"Don't." I hold up a hand, still blocking the doorway. "You don't get to show up after half a year of silence and?—"
"Let them in," Chloe interrupts. Her voice is steady despite the tears already streaming down her face. "Please. Let them in."
I want to refuse. Want to slam the door and keep her protected from more potential hurt. But she's asking, and I can't deny her anything.
I step aside reluctantly.
Harold and Doris enter, both moving carefully like they're walking through a minefield. Doris's gaze locks on Chloe, fresh tears spilling.
"I'm so sorry." Doris rushes forward, reaching for her daughter. "I'm so, so sorry, sweetheart. I was wrong. We were both wrong."
Chloe hesitates only a second before collapsing into her mother's arms, sobbing. They cling to each other in the middle of our entryway, both crying too hard to speak.
Harold clears his throat, turning to me. "Cade. I owe you an apology as well."
"Do you."
"Yes." He extends his hand. "I reacted poorly. Let anger cloud my judgment. You're my son, and I should have?—"
"I'm your son when it's convenient," I cut him off. "Wasn't your son when you threw us out. When you returned our wedding invitations unopened."
His hand drops. "You're right. I was cruel. We both were." He glances at Doris and Chloe still embracing. "But we're here now. Trying to make it right."
I study him. Looking for deception, for ulterior motives. Find only exhaustion and genuine regret.
Finally take his hand. Shake once, firm and brief.
"Come sit down," I say grudgingly.
We move to the living room. Chloe and Doris sit together on the couch, still holding hands. Harold takes an armchair. I remain standing, leaning against the wall near Chloe. Close enough to protect if needed.
Doris wipes her eyes with a tissue, finally looking around our space. Her gaze catches on Chloe's left hand. On the gold band matching mine.
"You're married." Not a question. Statement of fact.
"Three months ago," Chloe confirms quietly. "We sent invitations."
"I know." More tears. "We sent them back. I regret that every day. I missed my daughter's wedding because I was stubborn and judgmental and—" Her voice breaks. "I'm so sorry, Chloe. For everything. For abandoning you when you needed me most."
"It's okay, Mom?—"
"It's not okay." Doris squeezes her hand. "But I'm here now. If you'll let me. If you'll give me a chance to be your mother again."
Chloe nods, crying harder. They embrace again.
Harold addresses me. "We don't expect instant forgiveness. We know we hurt you both. But we'd like to try. To be a family again, if that's possible."
"Why now?" I ask bluntly. "What changed?"
"Time. Perspective." He sighs. "Realizing that losing our children wasn't worth whatever moral high ground we thought we had. You love each other. That's obvious. And we let society's opinions matter more than your happiness."
"Still think what we're doing is wrong?" I press.
"Honestly? I don't know." He meets my eyes. "But I know I was wrong to cut you off. To punish you for loving each other. That's what matters."
Fair enough answer. More honest than expected.
"How are your classes going?" Doris asks Chloe, clearly trying to establish normalcy. "Are you still studying art therapy?"
Chloe lights up slightly. "Yes, I'm still studying art therapy. It's going really well."
"She's top of her class," I add, unable to keep the pride from my voice.
Chloe flushes, shooting me a look that's half embarrassed, half pleased. "He's exaggerating."
"I'm not." I meet Doris's eyes. "She's brilliant at it. Talented, dedicated, everything you'd want."
"That's wonderful, sweetheart."
They talk for another twenty minutes. Carefully navigating neutral topics—Chloe's studies, my work, the weather. Avoiding anything too deep or emotional. Baby steps.
Finally, Harold stands. "We should go. Let you have your evening. But maybe we could do dinner next week? All four of us?"
I glance at Chloe. She nods eagerly.
"Next week works," I confirm.
At the door, Doris hugs Chloe one more time. "I love you, baby. I never stopped loving you."
"I love you too, Mom."
Harold and I shake hands again. Still awkward, still tense, but better than before.
Then they're gone.
Chloe stands in the closed doorway for a long moment, processing. When she finally turns to me, her face is blotchy from crying but radiant with relief.
"They came back," she whispers. "They actually came back."
"They did." I pull her close, tucking her against my chest. "Told you it would work out eventually."
"You didn't actually say that."
"Implied it strongly."
She laughs wetly, pressing her face into my shoulder. "Thank you. For letting them in. For not shutting them out even though you wanted to."
"Anything for you." I kiss the top of her head. "Always."
We stand there holding each other for several minutes. Processing, decompressing.
Then Chloe pulls back slightly, looking up at me with an expression I can't quite read. Nervous? Excited? Both?
"There's something else," she says softly. "Something I need to tell you. Was planning to wait until after they left but?—"
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong." She takes my hand, placing it on her still-flat stomach. "I'm pregnant, Cade. Found out this morning. Wanted to tell you first, but then my parents showed up and?—"
My brain short-circuits. "You're—pregnant?"
"Yes. About six weeks. I took three tests to be sure."
"Pregnant." I repeat the word, testing it. Then the full meaning hits me, and I'm grinning like an idiot. "You're pregnant. We're having a baby."
"We're having a baby," she confirms, smiling through new tears.
I kiss her hard, lifting her off her feet and spinning once. "A baby. Our baby. Fuck, Chloe?—"
"You're happy?"
"Happy? I'm fucking ecstatic." Set her down carefully, suddenly paranoid about being too rough. "Boy or girl? Do we know yet?"
"Too early to tell."
"Doesn't matter. Either way." Already imagining it—a little girl with Chloe's eyes, or a boy with her smile. Teaching them to paint, to read, to be kind. "When are you due?"
"Late spring, if I'm tracking everything right."
"Spring baby." I cup her face, kissing her again more gently. "We're going to be parents."
"We're going to be parents," she echoes. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"
"Ready? Been ready since the night I proposed. Since before that, probably." Pull her close again, one hand resting protectively on her stomach. "Going to be the best father I can be. Give our kid everything."
"I know you will." She melts against me. "This has been the craziest day. My parents came back. We're having a baby. It's overwhelming."
"Good overwhelming?"
"The best overwhelming."
I scoop her up, carrying her toward our bedroom. She squeals, laughing.
"What are you doing?"
"Celebrating. Privately. Thoroughly."
"We just had major family reconciliation and life-changing news?—"
"Exactly. Perfect reason to celebrate."
In our bedroom, I lay her on the bed carefully. Reverently. She's carrying our child now. Changes everything.
"I love you," I tell her, kneeling beside the bed and pressing a kiss to her stomach. "Both of you."
"We love you too." Her fingers thread through my hair. "My husband. My baby's father."
Titles that still feel surreal. Husband. Father. Building a family with the woman I love.
We have each other.
And soon, we'll have more.
Everything I never knew I needed.